


Unfinished

by e_wills



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_wills/pseuds/e_wills
Summary: Hiccup and Astrid get older and their kisses get deeper.





	Unfinished

The rain started early that year—the icy sort of deluge that absorbed through the skin to freeze the blood and sinew beneath it. Everything seemed wet, smelled wet; with a damp, earthiness that could be pleasant, were it not so miserably cold. Winter was drawing ever closer. As the leaves changed, the birds migrated, the game grew scarcer. The distant peaks behind the village, and the towering sea stacks before it, were obscured by the fog that settled in at summer’s end. Grass became dirt, which became persistent mud.

Berk was beginning its long slumber, but its Viking inhabitants still had more life left in them before the archipelago’s harsh winter came, forcing everyone indoors for most of the season. At its worst, the weather halted fishing expeditions, hunting parties, and all major construction projects. Trade would cease for as long as there were ice floes to keep ships at bay. Only the stubbornest Vikings would be found out and about when they had no need to be.

But that was weeks away yet.  _Mabon_  had just concluded and the last of the decorations were coming down. It was a quick turn around between the minor festival and the much larger, significant holiday of  _Vetrnaetr._

A slight mist was a welcome break from the heavy rain of the early morning. Hiccup and Astrid chanced being outside, though there was a new band of dark clouds rolling in from the sea. The wind was picking up, but they walked close together, flanked by their dragons; and that offered some protection.

“Fishlegs says Gobber’s calling it ‘scale rot’, or something like that. Have you ever heard of it?” Astrid asked, inching closer to Hiccup as they trudged through the mud. She shivered, and they bumped shoulders, mud squelching beneath their feet.

Hiccup winced. Any other surface but dry, solid ground was a struggle for him. The mud gripped his prosthesis and it took more effort to pull it free. He didn’t complain though—he rarely ever did—but his uneven gait and unsteady pace were obvious; it had to be uncomfortable, at the very least, regardless of what he did or didn’t say.

He answered, “No, but I don’t pretend to know everything about dragon ailments.”

Astrid stopped in her tracks, playing it off as dramatic effect while giving him a moment to catch up. “Well,  _that’s_  a shocker…”

Hiccup laughed. “Hey now…”

She grinned, taking his hand to help him along, though she’d deny it if he asked; and she knew he never would.

“Seriously, though—that’s got to be half the dragons that have it,” she sighed.

A couple nights had passed since she ventured into the stables. She saw numerous beasts lying on the damp floor of their stalls with red, inflamed scale margins. The disease spread along their underbellies like a terrible rash. She felt itchy just looking at it, and checked Stormfly over at once, pleased that her Nadder did not appear to be afflicted.

“Well, did Fishlegs say what causes it?” Hiccup asked, brow furrowed.

Astrid shook her head. “He’s pretty distraught. Poor Meatlug’s miserable.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

Hiccup’s fingers curled tighter around her own. Even such a subtle gesture cut through the solemnity of their conversation.

He replied, “I don’t blame him. “Thankfully Toothless is in good health—aren’t you, bud?”

He stopped and turned toward his dragon, releasing Astrid’s hand to stroke both sides of the Night Fury’s wide jaw. She tried not to feel too disappointed. After all, there was no relationship with either of them where the dragons were not included. She accepted it, just like Hiccup was more than accepting of her dedication to Stormfly. There simply was no Hiccup without Toothless. When the Night Fury warbled, he smiled; and that smile was only reserved for the dragon, in whatever supernatural connection they shared.

She reached up and curled her arm around Stormfly’s neck, and the Nadder leaned into her. After all, she cared for her own dragon as much as Hiccup cared for Toothless—maybe.

Was such a thing even possible?

“I’d be beside myself if Stormfly was sick,” she told him.

Hiccup nodded, musing aloud more to himself than to her, “Maybe we can go down there tomorrow; see if we can figure out why the dragons are getting this ‘scale rot’ thing?”

“Mhm. Sounds like a plan. Right after my morning chores,” she replied. When Hiccup made a face, she joked, “Yes.  _Chores_ , Hiccup. Normal people have those.” She waved a flippant hand. “I mean, I know you’re exempt, being the son of the Chief and the Hero of Berk, and all that.”

Hiccup snorted. “ _What?_ ”He turned back toward her, face flat. “Okay, no. First off, I’m not.”

“The son of the Chief?” Astrid suggested, finding great humor in his mounting exasperation.

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “The Hero of Berk,” he corrected. “No. No, stop laugh—I am  _not_.” A grin leaked through the cracks in his would-be serious visage. “Secondly, I do have chores.”

She lightly elbowed him; she had to remember he was not particularly fond of typical Viking affection.

“Okay, flying Toothless doesn’t count.”

Hiccup was laughing then. “Astrid—"

But Thor saw fit to interrupt their conversation. The distant clouds had moved in above them, letting loose with an angry and urgent hailstorm. Several expletives rang out as their fellow tribesmen abandoned their tasks to run for cover. Their dragons seem to add their own colorful language as they extended their wings to protect their riders.

“Odin’s balls!” Astrid shouted over the roar of the hail.

“This way!” Hiccup replied, taking off before she had a chance to collect herself.

There was once a time he may have tried to lead her by the hand, thinking he was being noble. Now, he knew better than to try—at least until her agency was firmly embedded in his mind.

She followed under the canopy of Stormfly’s wings, letting her dragon guide her as she kept her head down—just on the off-chance Thor wanted to be particularly ornery with sideways gusts of hail.

Her Nadder followed Toothless right into…a storehouse—where the morning’s catch was hanging up, salted, waiting for the right weather conditions to be set out to dry. Astrid glanced up at the wide-eyed, slack-jaw cod, dangling with the barely perceptible swinging motions of disturbed air currents.

“Nice!” she teased, still raising her voice above the torrent of hail.

Hiccup swatted Toothless and shook his head, discouraging the dragon from eating anything. The Night Fury sulked.

“I didn’t exactly have the time to scope out our accommodations, Milady!” he shouted back; the hail fell with increasing velocity.

Astrid smirked and settled into a corner, watching Hiccup look over Toothless’s wings. How gentle and concerned he was. And to think Hiccup was sometimes privately critical of the way Fishlegs doted on Meatlug. She chuckled to herself; it was so typical of him.

There was a time when it just about drove her crazy. She had wondered once who Hiccup was apart from dragons.

In the first few days after the mayhem of the Red Death—before Hiccup had woken up—she had been intoxicated on the excitement of the new way of things, the anxiety over Hiccup’s injuries, and the awe over what he, the former village screw-up, had done. Her admiration of him was immediate but short-lived. She had placed him on a pedestal back then, much to her embarrassment now—before she took a moment to stop, process it all, and  _think_ —and she had kissed him in front of everyone, leaving things as a rather vague and open assumption around Berk.

 _That_  had taken some foot-in-mouth conversations with Hiccup, to put them on a sound and level foundation—one on which they had to build a  _friendship_ , before any sort of  _something_  could emerge from it. The expectant inquires of their parents and friends had not been helpful.

Astrid had to work know Hiccup, and he had to work to know her. It was painfully obvious in those first days that they had only fancied shiny caricatures of each other—albeit Hiccup’s longings had existed for a while, and his fantasies of who he believed her to be were more firmly entrenched, and harder to dispel. Reality wasn’t always as appealing; but through mutual respect, a fast friendship, and budding romantic attraction of its own painstaking cultivation, Astrid had come to find that what they had now, at seventeen, was better— _much_  better. And genuine.

She finally knew who Hiccup was, with all his strengths and downright frustrating quirks. Her feelings for him ran deeper than the giddy and naïve infatuation with the first person who came along and dared to be different. Hiccup had, with effort, come to know and appreciate Astrid for who she really was: a separate and unique entity from the girl he had built up in his dreams; and unrealistic apparition she could never be, that he would never obtain. It hadn’t been fair to either of them.

Two Snoggletogs prior—the first with the dragons—had been the real turning point for them, when they had given up with pretense and fantasies, and were unchained from pedestals. Since those dynamics had clicked in place, their trajectory had been a sharp incline.

“I hope it stops soon,” he told her, limping toward a collection of barrels lined along the adjacent wall.

Astrid moved to help him, but Hiccup found such gestures every bit infantilizing as his earlier attempts to treat her delicately had been.

He peeked beneath the lid of the barrels and the pungent stench of death and brine wafted up to meet them. Apparently, the dragons’ share of unsalted fish kept them company as well.

Hiccup replaced the lid with a simple, “Nope.”

He hobbled to a coiled pile of old mooring, sitting down with some difficulty; but just to be off his leg seemed relief enough. Astrid watched intently as he removed his prosthesis. He had recently upgraded it, still unsatisfied with the results. She wasn’t sure exactly what he thought was missing—then again, it was not a struggle with which she could empathize.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he replied without a breath, without looking up, just as he always did. He massaged the stump through his pantleg, and the muscle above it. “I needed to readjust.”

Truth be told, she admired Hiccup for his strength and silent resolve; how he wasn’t self-pitying of what others perceived as just another disadvantage to add to his list. He had laughed it off and once said, “I’m used to physical shortcomings, remember?” But Astrid had not found it quite so funny. She supposed if anyone  _could_  make light of somber things, he was particularly adept at that; he had practice. Over the past two years, Astrid had grown defensive of him. She decided it was prerogative as his girlfriend, though his perspective on the matter was best summed up as polite exasperation.

Two years could bring such change. She never expected that she could learn anything about morality and grit from Hiccup Haddock—but he also had developed the knack of proving others wrong about him.  _Recently,_ anyway. He was pleasant to be around—smart, witty, insightful—when he stopped trying to be someone he wasn’t. They had wasted years steeped in ignorance about one another: he wasn’t  _that_ insufferable, and she wasn’t  _that_  unapproachable. She appreciated the honesty and ease to their relationship now; it was comfortable and ripe for something she couldn’t yet articulate.

She crossed the short distance between them. The beating hail silenced her footfalls, and Hiccup didn’t notice she had moved until she was standing right in front of him. She heard the soft click of his prosthetic locking into place; his newest design didn’t require as many cumbersome fastenings.

His glanced up, merely curious. She didn’t make him jumpy anymore.

Without a word, she extended a hand. He took it and rose to his feet. Somehow, he had surpassed her by six inches. The height difference was most noticeable in the rare moments they stood so close to one another. But such moments were few and far between—at least in a manner where the air felt so charged.

At first, Astrid assumed Hiccup was maintaining appropriate distance between them out of respect and good manners, though he had not historically shown much concern for boundaries and propriety in almost every other regard—befriending a dragon being the most glaring example. But Astrid had begun to realize such proximity was a dangerous thing in recent weeks. More frequently, she was noticing Hiccup in the same ways she was certain he had noticed her for a while. She understood now that he was apprehensive. Something more powerful than common sense was at work on them.

He released her hand but didn’t step away. Their combined body heat turned the icy veneer on their skins to something warm and inviting. Astrid noticed the rate of his breathing: how it had quickened and almost synchronized with her own. She gazed up into that familiar face, growing ever stranger with each bit of childhood he shed; but it was a good kind of strange—a welcomed sort of different. He was making her feel  _things_  and have  _wants_ ; the likes of which she had never felt and had been known to scoff at on occasion.

She wanted more where simple chaste kisses would no longer suffice.

“Is there any particular reason we’re standing this close, staring awkwardly at one another in total silence?” Hiccup asked, grinning.

The fool rarely took anything seriously—unless it was dragons.

Astrid blinked, giving herself a mental shake. She had been leaning in, eyes half-lidded, as her thoughts physically manifested themselves. A hot embarrassment prickled across her cheeks, but Hiccup didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

Trying to maintain some sort of face, she replied, “Shut up. I want to kiss you, dingus.”

She didn’t need to speak quite so loudly anymore. The hailstorm outside was lifting and for once, she wanted it to persist.

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow. And it was adorable enough to make matters worse. “Since when have you ever needed express permission to kiss m—?”

Astrid grasped him by the tunic, pulling him down to meet her as she rocked up on her toes. Their lips collided. Hiccup stiffened in surprise, and they teetered on the spot. Quickly, his hands found her waist, steadying them both—and he seemed frozen, like he expected the kiss to end as abruptly as all the others. But she just closed her eyes, tilting her head to better match the contours of his mouth.

It felt good to finally scratch the itch.

Astrid felt as though she had swallowed a dozen butterflies, all fighting for escape from her stomach—but they were creatures of elation, with only a hint of self-doubt; not enough to deter her from savoring the touch and texture of her boyfriend’s lips beyond what a simple peck could satisfy. The kiss was slow, warm, and meandering. she took advantage of every moment she had to trace the shape of his mouth, and relish in the delight of him kissing back.

Hiccup reciprocated, albeit with palpable hesitation and unsure movements, refusing to deepen the kiss any further than what she allowed. He was passive. With gentle hands, he pulled her into him, doing nothing more than mirroring her own actions back to her. When she opened her mouth to drink him in, he did as well. As she brushed her lips over his, he waited for his opportunity to respond in kind. He was, from what she could tell, pleasantly receptive.

Astrid could feel his heart beating furiously against her chest where they pressed together, blending with the enthusiasm rattling within her own body—to the point where their pulses were just about indistinguishable. She ever been  _so_  invested in a single kiss, noting the taste and sensations of Hiccup’s mouth, mingled with the flavor of the early morning rain that clung to his upper lip.

The kiss was, in a word: hot. It was the first of its kind that they had shared. Hiccup was uncertain only in how aggressive he could be, and if Astrid didn’t set up boundaries, he had no sense of direction. Where could he take it, and where could he not? So, she had to succumb to reason—to those stern hands telling her to slow down, pull back, don’t rush, not yet,  _wait._

If she didn’t have a stopping point, was it fair to assume Hiccup did?

Better judgment screamed at her until she relented and broke away, though she hated to do it. Their lips parted with a soft sound, and he chased her for a fraction of an inch before he realized the kiss had ended. His eyes slowly opened from half-lidded, and she felt equally as intoxicated as he looked. They were still so close; and the cold, damp atmosphere could only intrude so much in the very cozy space they had created.

The corners of Hiccup’s lips twitched with the threat of a smile, but happy bemusement won out over giddiness.

“Why did you—? Wow.” He was breathless.

“Is that a good ‘wow’ or a bad ‘wow’?” Astrid murmured, regretting how insecure the words sounded as soon as she had uttered them. She folded her arms and they bumped his chest.

“It’s only bad if that’s the that’s the only one of those I get.”

Astrid snorted and they both started laughing, holding each other loosely while they touched foreheads, awash in the heady undertow of their nearness.

“I think the hail’s stopped,” Hiccup murmured. “It was a quick one.”

Indeed, the only rumbling that could be heard was their dragons’ combined breathing. Voices had returned to the village, emerging from their hiding places; which felt like miles away from inside their respite of hanging fish and musty rope.

“Mm. No rush though, right? Probably still wet as Hel out there,” Astrid whispered, leaning into him.

Hiccup grinned in anticipation. The tips of their noses brushed, and eyelids grew heavy again as their lips aligned.

Astrid could feel the warmth of his breath on her face—could practically taste him in the space between them…

“Wait. Wet?” Hiccup blurted out.

He abruptly turned away, face hardened in deep thought. Astrid mouth collided with his jaw, awkward and clumsy.

“Wha—?” She recoiled and snapped, “ _Hiccup!”_

He turned back, gripping her by the shoulders and stooping a little so that they were level—she hated that he had to do that now. His eyes were wide and his face alight with that same boyish excitement that overcame him when anything had to do with—

“The dragons!” he exclaimed. “Astrid, that’s it!”

“What’s ‘it’?” she asked, admittedly intrigued but plenty exasperated.

She rolled her eyes. He had already sidled past her for the door, followed closely by Toothless who was keeping pace with his rider’s hurried steps. Hiccup was speaking animatedly the entire time, but Astrid only caught a few words; she wasn’t really listening.

Her boyfriend could be frustrating, yes; easily distracted and preoccupied with his own interests above more pressing manners—but there was a draw to him: some sort of radiance that was either his sheer passion for things or the genuinely good heart he had, even if his methods were a little ill-advised at times.

He barely paused for a breath. “…And it’s just been raining so much—of  _course_  that has something to do with the scale rot! The dragons don’t typically nest in wet places. I can’t believe it took me so long to—oh, Thordammit.”

Hiccup glared down at his prothesis snared by the mud, as if the climate on Berk was a personal affront.

Astrid shook her head. “Hey, you!” she called, lingering in the storehouse for a moment; she peered at him through the open door, smiling fondly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied. Then he paused for a beat before resuming, “I really should tell Fishlegs. And Gobber. If we can be sure it’s the copious rainfall, maybe there’s an actual remedy…”

He carried on and Astrid followed along, stifling her amusement and nodding at appropriate intervals.

She hated unfinished business, after all—and he still owed her that second kiss.


End file.
